Visas for dummies

I’ve been to the United States many times in my life, and although I’ve gone through at least five US visas, my upcoming trip marked the first time I actually had to line up for one. I’ve been around long enough to have enjoyed certain perks at the US Embassy that spared me the ordeal of having to fall in line on Roxas Boulevard in the wee hours of the morning in the hopes of making the cut-off for the day’s quota of applicants, along with the attendant suspense and terror in having to be interviewed, with the distinct possibility of being denied a visa.

My brother had contacts at the embassy, so getting my first visa was not a problem. I didn’t even have to step into the consular office. I gave him my papers and voila, my visa was granted. It was important to keep my visa current since work brought me to the US often and half of my siblings live there, but I never  once had to sweat for it. Until now, when it looks like there are no more exceptions to the rules. 

Since my daughter immigrated to Australia in 2004, my travels have been mostly Down Under and I wasn’t even aware when my US visa expired in 2009. 

Last month, my US-based siblings decided it was time for a “Sisters’ Summit” in California, which meant that I’d have to face what I’d been resisting for five years and apply for a new US visa. I expected a hassle but the website was very helpful. In fact, it is designed for dummies. It anticipates panic attacks, every possible question, and every likely error an applicant might make.

It took me two long evenings to complete and send my application online. My passport picture and e-signature were processed on-line. My picture had to be scanned in the right number of pixels, and my face had to fit into a frame, my nose centered and my eyes and ears falling within a grid. Then all I had to do was press a button and my application was considered signed. Within seconds, I got my confirmation letter via e-mail.

The website then instructed me to pay my non-refundable visa application fee at a bank, making sure I brought a printout of a receipt that had to be stamped to show at the embassy that I had paid. Only then could I make an appointment for interview, which I could have done online, but I wanted to talk to a real person. The embassy’s call center agent told me I could schedule my interview online and asked for my e-mail address so he could send me a password to get into the website. When no password arrived after a day, I called the number again and found out that the agent had misspelled my e-mail address. 

There was a 6:30 a.m. slot for interview on a Monday, which I declined and the next open date was Thursday, at 8:30 a.m. I could hear the drumroll in my head: Be there 15 minutes before your scheduled time, said the website, and don’t bring anything electronic or battery-operated or you will be denied entry.

On the appointed date, I left my cell phone and my Swiss card (in case it was regarded as a deadly weapon) in the car and, carrying a small water jug — it was such a hot day — crossed the pedestrian walkway on Roxas Boulevard to the consular office.  Along the way, there was a peanut gallery who shouted at embassy-bound people, “Bawal ang cell phone sa loob, hawakan ko para sa ‘yo (Cell phones are not allowed inside. I can hold it for you).” I confidently went through the first checkpoint and on to security, where the guard asked, “Do you have a USB?” Huh? In fact, I had three in my purse, containing most of the work I’ve done in the past five years. USBs were not on the verboten list in the website.

“Sorry, Ma’am, but that’s not allowed. And the water jug too,” said the guard, who advised me to bring the contraband back to the car. When I protested that I’d be late, he said, “There are a hundred of you scheduled for 8:30.” I could hear the peanut gallery outside snickering as I slinked back to the car.

Back after 10 minutes, I cleared through security, then lined up for a number before entering  a gym, where around a hundred people waited to be let into an air-conditioned hall for further processing. Once inside, I saw my number flash immediately for pre-screening. Then, before I could even sit, my number flashed again for finger-scanning. Great American efficiency! I should be out in half an hour, max.

It was 9:15 when I sat down to wait for my interview. The number being serviced was 2100. I looked at my number: 2287. Groan. But the pace was brisk, and most of the interviewees left smiling. My number flashed at 10:57. I was out of there at exactly 11 a.m.

“Your visa will be delivered in a week,” the consul said, smiling, as he waved goodbye. But wait, a week from Thursday would be Maundy Thursday, and I had opted to pick up my passport at the courier’s office in a mall instead of having it delivered to my house, and the mall had announced that it will be closed on Thursday and Friday of Holy Week. Which made me feel like a real dummy.

But surprise, surprise, my passport arrived on Tuesday afternoon, giving me ample time to be in California today, Easter Sunday, from where l join all of Christendom in celebrating this most glorious feast of all.

Have a blessed and joyful Easter, everyone!